


Between the Lines, Against the Clock

by VerdantMoth



Series: For Yourself [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Biting, Copious Magic Use, Court Sorcerer Merlin, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, Known magic, M/M, Magic Display, Magic Lube, king arthur - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2019-08-22 22:42:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16606796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VerdantMoth/pseuds/VerdantMoth
Summary: Merlin puts on a show for the folks of Camelot, revealing his magic. Later, he gifts Arthur a private performance.





	Between the Lines, Against the Clock

This is kind of a sequel to "For Yourself Alone"?

Title comes from Louis MacNeices' "Autumn Journal"

  
  


Published at: 2017-05-27

Revised at: 2017-05-27 01:48:55 -0400

 

_ I loved my love with a platform ticket, _

_ A jazz song, _

_ A handbag, a pair of stockings of Paris Sand– _

_ I loved her long. _

_ I loved her between the lines and against the clock, _

_ Not until death _

_ But till life did us part I loved her with paper money _

_ And with whisky on the breath. _

_ I loved her with peacock’s eyes and the wares of _

_ Carthage, _

_ With glass and gloves and gold and a powder puff _

_ With blasphemy, camaraderie, and bravado _

_ And lots of other stuff. _

_ I loved my love with the wings of angels _

_ Dipped in henna, unearthly red, _

_ With my office hours, with flowers and sirens, _

_ With my budget, my latchkey, and my daily bread.’ _

This was Arthur’s favorite position, no matter the situation. Merlin, on his knees, eyes down cast and face serious, a smirk just barely tickling at the corners of his mouth. The difference, Arthur thinks, is the glint in his eyes.

Arthur knows Merlin’s glints. This one though, he hasn’t seen before. “For someone with a sword to his neck, you look mighty relaxed, Merlin.” His lips barely move, knowing that Merlin will catch the sound anyway.

Someone coughs, startling Arthur. His hand slips just barely, and the blade in his hand follows. He can hear the intakes of breath from the crowd, watches the thinnest of red lines mar the pale column of Merlin’s neck. Merlin hisses, eyes flaring gold as magic seals the wound.

“Careful, sire, this isn’t an execution.” Arthur watches as Merlin’s lips tip, trying to look annoyed rather than amused. Arthur tries to keep his face serious, but he can feel the glare in his forehead. “Well. Someone decided to use a blade forged in dragon’s breath instead of the usual ceremonial sword.”

Merlin laughs, head tipped back baring that long, pale neck Arthur knows so well. Somewhere in the crowd there’s a cough, and Merlin knows Morgana is stifling her own laughter. He flicks his eyes up, searching the crowd of knights. As expected, he finds the dark haired beauty hanging off the arms of Leon. He cuts her a look. She raises a brow, sneering.

Arthur isn’t sure when he lost all control of his own life, but here he is, a king trying to appoint a court sorcerer with a magically sharpened blade while a gaggle of knights try not to giggle and his sister refuses to stand on the dais in favor of standing by her betrothed. He flicks his eyes over the knights once more, frowning.

Merlin snorts from his position. “He’s standing to the left, with his wife and her father. Be glad Elyan chose not to join them.”

“Merlin?”

“Yes?”

“Please, shut up so we can do this.”

From the crowd, there’s another bubble of laughter, and Merlin’s head whips around, a cold glint in his eyes. Arthur watches the gold flare, just a second, and there’s a commotion in the crowd. Arthur can’t see exactly what happens, because there’s a strange flurry of red cloaks and someone’s caught in the middle of the sudden wind.

“For the love of- Merlin!”

The sorcerer merely shrugs, full lips pulling up at the corners.

Arthur sighs. He knew the village boy could hold a grudge, but it’s been  _ months _ since the hair debacle.

“Arthur, dear brother, you’ve gathered us here, placed your man servant on his knees, and decided to hold a blade to his neck. No one is judging your relationship but we certainly don’t want to see the foreplay before breakfast.”

This time, it’s Merlin who chokes on a cough, a glorious rush of blood dancing up his throat and his cheeks.

Arthur sighs. “Well, if everyone in this room could be serious and stop fooling around, I could explain!”

Percival snorts. “My king, when you and Merlin are involved, nothing is ever serious.”

Gwaine laughs loudly, and soon the entire crowd,  _ servants included _ Arthur notes, is laughing.

He glares down at Merlin, “this is your fault.”

Merlin, to his credit, simply shrugs. “You’re king, you know. You can demand respect.”

Arthur pretends to consider it, tilting his head and pursing his lips. “Or you can show them why we are here.”

Arthur grins, then composes his face. “Merlin Emrys, show them why I’m officially dubbing you Royal Court Sorcerer.”

Merlin grins. “I feel like that is not the original written script, my King.”

Arthur scowls, sheaths his sword and then throws his hands in the air. “I’m bloody king, and I’ve absolutely no control over anything!”

Merlin rolls his eyes at the dramatics of his king, but holds his hand up, a silent request. Arthur obliges him, and grasp the thin, bony fingers in his own as he lifts Merlin. He lingers a moment, enjoying the cool skin. Merlin, he’s learned, is always cold, slender fingers cool against the heat of Arthur’s own palms, against the planes of Arthur’s chest, against-

As if Merlin knew where the king’s thoughts had gone, a breeze blows against Arthur’s face, forcing his attention back to the crowded room. Like he’s presenting a lady to the court, Arthur slowly spins Merlin to the crowd. Merlin rolls his eyes, but he lets the breeze blow through the gathered crowd. There’s several quiet gasp, and Arthur tracks the way several eyes move to the large stained glass windows, shut, as they always are.

Merlin glances at Arthur, dark brow raised. Arthur nods, “show them,” and somewhat reluctantly releases the chilled fingers.

Merlin steps forward, and Arthur wants to pull him back, to keep trying to pour his own warmth into the lanky male. This isn’t his moment though, so he settles himself on his throne, ankle lazily draped over his knee.

Merlin is a sight, Arthur thinks, draped in robes so blue they’re almost black. Why Merlin had insisted on  _ robes _ , Arthur isn’t sure, but he can appreciate the dramatic flair as Merlin calls a wind to twirl the fabric. He snorts, and there’s a sudden tightening in his britches. It’s not natural, and he scowls at the curls at the nape of the sorcerer’s neck.

Immediately lights burst in the already sunlit room, strange colors glimmering off the stone walls. Arthur can’t see them, but he knows that the gold dust falling from the center matches the flares in Merlin’s eyes at this display.

Merlin half turns, jerking his eyebrows at Arthur. A slow shadow crosses his eyes and his lips curl as he raises a single hand, slowly flicking the wrist. Arthur _ knows _ that movement, and this time when his pants tighten, it’s completely natural. He knows there’s a display happening. That Merlin is dropping luminescent petals from the ceilings and releasing butterflies from the ears of the little ones. He knows he should see how his people are reacting, how the knights are coping with this new knowledge, how the townspeople are responding to the idea that magic, the magic he has made legal, has roots in the center of the court.

Arthur doesn’t though, because the way Merlin flicks that wrist, the way he tilts his head, eyes half lidded, this show is all for Arthur.

Warmth rushes over Arthur, slow and tingly, and Merlin doesn’t even have the decency to acknowledge what he’s doing to Arthur. The lines of his back, even under the ridiculous robe, are taught, shoulders tense as he-

Arthur sits up straighter in his chair. Merlin lifts thin arms, and the heavy sleeves of the robe slip down as animals dance through the crowds. Strangely colored otters with wings, little ring-tailed creatures he’d never seen, the black bands on their tails spinning, miniaturized dragons and horses with skin that shifts like rushing water and then flickering like fire.

Arthur had seen Merlin’s magic. Small doses, cleaning rooms, moving random objects, stirring his freaking tea because the wizard was so damn lazy. But this? This spectacle was so extravagant, and Arthur doesn’t know when he’d stood, but there’s a pair of black and gold kittens dancing around his feet keeping him in place.

The crowd, Arthur decides doesn’t matter, and he wants them gone. He doesn’t want to share this anymore. No one else deserves the bizarre menagerie Merlin’s conjured. These lights, too bright to be natural, the flowers blooming around the dais and up the walls, this is all _ his.  _ He is king, damn it. He reaches a hand towards Merlin, but he finds he can’t move.

He cast his eyes about the room, and catches eyes with an amused Morgana, her own fingers raised. Years of private arguments let him know what she’s saying, even across the room, and he chances a look around the large throne room.

There’s fear. Lots of fear, even in the eyes of the knights. But there’s awe and amusement as well. And the fear, he notes, isn’t the angry kind. Wary, maybe a little timid, but most of it is giving way to laughter and delight, and Arthur watches as a small child, freckled and crowned in red, raises his hands. He can’t see Merlin’s face, but he watches as Merlin bends down and closes his hands. He knows what Merlin is about to do, and he wants to be on the other side of this show. Wants to watch the way Merlin will suck plump lips between his teeth, the way his brows will draw together. Instead, he can just barely make out the way that Merlin is cupping his hands, interlocking those spindle like fingers.

He can almost hear the strange language Merlin will whisper, the way his voice will get husky, too deep to be natural. He can’t see what Merlin reveals, when he finally opens his hands, but the kid’s eyes go wide, mouth open. Tiny fingers pluck something and he watches the kid plop something in his mouth.

“That’s new.” He whispers.

Merlin turns slowly and winks, and it’s like the wind whispers to him. “Kitchen isn’t going to be so pleased later.”

Morgana uses her magic to gently push Arthur back into his seat, forcing him to watch the show.

\---

The show had lasted for a long time, as people became more and more comfortable and began making ridiculous request after ridiculous request. Merlin, for his part, had obliged them all. At some point Mordred had slinked his way over to Arthur, standing just behind the throne in the spot that would eventually be recognized as Merlin’s. “The Druid’s gave him the name Emrys. We believe he’s the greatest most powerful sorcerer who will ever live.”

Arthur nodded absently. At some point a strange haze had settled over him, relaxing him to the point that he’d almost fallen asleep.

Mordred sighed, muttering under his own breath. Energy flowed through Arthur and he started up right, turning towards the druid.

“Now that I have your attention,” Mordred smirks, “even the most powerful sorcerer alive does not have endless magic to expend.”

Arthur nodded. “Just a few moments more.”        

Mordred nodded, slinking back into the crowd in that strange way he always disappeared. Arthur glanced around for Morgana, wanting her opinion on the spectacle, but he couldn’t find the curls of Leon, so he assumed that the pair had slunk off to an abandoned room to do what they did when they assumed no one would notice.

He flicked his eyes toward the dark haired male, eyes suddenly cautious. Merlin’s movements were slower than before, slightly stiff. The circles under his eyes matched the folds of his robe, and the smile on his lips twitched every now and then. A kid was tugging on his robe, and Arthur kept waiting for Merlin to turn, but the wizard was swaying slowly on the spot, lights fizzling from his fingertips. Arthur stood and moved slowly towards the robed wizard. Merlin finally manages to turn towards the boy, and Arthur can’t help but grin as the kid’s dark skin suddenly lights up with a rainbow before there’s a fountain of stolen kitchen sweets pouring out of the kids hands.

Merlin sways again, and Arthur pushes his way through the crowd to catch him. Merlin’s back slams into his chest, and there is nothing surreptitious about the way that Arthur wraps his hands around the thin male’s waist, steadying him. “Merlin, dear, I think maybe this show needs to be over.”

Merlin snorts, but sags against the blond. “You’re the king. You set the schedule.”

Arthur pretends to consider it, fingers tracing up Merlin’s torso, counting his ribs even through the thick sack he calls a shirt. “You’re the wizard, poof us out of here.”

Merlin sets his head on Arthur’s shoulders and rolls his neck so his nose rubs against the king’s neck. “One, it doesn’t work that way. Two, don’t you think that’s a bit extreme?”

Arthur tries not to shiver as Merlin replaces his nose with those plump lips. “Aren’t you always reminding me that I’m king?  As king, I’d like to command my new Royal Court Sorcerer to do something about this crowd so he can get some food and rest.”

Merlin  opens his mouth, and just because he can, licks a long stripe from Arthur’s ear down just below the collar of his shirt. “People are watching us, Merlin.”

“Are they, sire?”

The king doesn’t want to move his neck, doesn’t want to break the contact from Merlin, but he manages to slide his eyes around the room slowly. He’s not sure what Merlin has done, but people are slowly milling out of the room, distracted by conversations that Arthur’s sure Merlin has influenced. There are no more strange animals, no light dancing from chandelier to chandelier, and the overwhelming scent of too many flowers has faded.

In his arms Merlin slumps a little further, and Arthur groans. “For someone whose bones cut like steel, you’re rather heavy.”

Merlin sneers and he tries to pull away but Arthur tightens his hold. “I believe, sire, that it’s your physique that we’ve been watching lately. Don’t think I don’t notice you slipping off to the kitchens after council meetings.”

Arthur pinches the skin of Merlin’s hips, but doesn’t say anything. He gently shoves Merlin upright, slipping his hands down until he can catch one of Merlin’s. He frowns, noting how much cooler than usual they are. Merlin, for his part merely sighs. "I’d like it if you abused your powers just a little. The cook might actually murder me once she realizes where I conjured all those snacks from, but I’m starving.”

“I believe you’re the servant here. It’s your job to serve me. And it's my job to make ridiculous demands of you.” Still he follows Merlin down the stone stairs, the smell of fresh bread tickling his nose. His stomach grumbles and he slips in front of Merlin pulling him along a little faster. The cooks are muttering as the two men enter and when one of them catches sight of Merlin’s dark curls she raises her arm, a spoon covered in stew ready to be swatted across the backs of the wizard’s hand.

She pauses when she sees Arthur, and for a moment he really believes she’s going to smack him, but she lowers the spoon and scowls, waving a hand towards a large pot and a pile of dark, heavily crusted bread. Arthur nods his head, crown tipping forward just a bit as he pulls Merlin towards the good.

\---

They don’t linger in the kitchens, because despite his position Arthur still isn’t convinced the cooks aren’t going to smack him for filching orange pasties. He convinces one of the cooks’ son’s to carry a tray with two bowls of stew and several crusty rolls to his chambers, promising the kid that Merlin will conjure up a puppy for him later. He carries two goblets of sweet juice, keeping himself behind Merlin only because he’s seen his servant trip over nothing with a full stomach and all of his energy. It wouldn’t do for him to slip on the stairs the same day he gains a new position in the court.

The trip to Arthur’s chambers takes forever. Merlin’s dragging by the time the reach the top of the stairs, his feet catching on every stone. Arthur is trying to be patient, but he can’t helped the relieved huff of breath when Merlin finally mumbles something under his breath and the door swings open.

The food is already sitting on the table and eating is a quiet but quick affair. Arthur hustles Merlin into the bed and he’s surprised at how little the wizard argues, eyes closed and breath almost even before his head hits the pillow. Arthur debates going over the documents left to him by the advisors, or scrounging his knights up for some training, but he can’t seem to pull himself away from the slumbering form. He yawns, once, then again, and he decides that just for a moment he’ll join Merlin. Close his eyes for just a second, and then he’ll do something kingly.

\---

The sun is high in the sky when Arthur feels something cold snake down his spine. He jerks up right, wrestling with the cloak that had wound its way around him at some point, struggling to figure out where he was and what the strange feeling on his back was.

He hears a low chuckle but he finally manages to get himself untangled from bedding and clothing enough to raise himself up on his elbows and stare at Merlin. Merlin, who was splayed across a chair, dressed only in his white undershirt and loose trousers. He’s barefoot, and why Arthur’s brain latches onto that, the king isn’t sure, but it does, and now he’s focused on the long legs attached to those feet.

Merlin is lazily sipping on some water in goblets that look frosted. Arthur raises a brow and Merlin raises one back. “There’s fruit.” He points at a bowl and Arthur eyes it. “Kitchen sent it up, I didn’t steal this time.”

Arthur nods and stretches off the bed, striding over to the bowl and picking around until he finds a dark grape to pop in his mouth. He’s digging around for another one, when that same strange chill runs down his spine and he flicks his eyes to Merlin who’s watching a completely pointless fire. The only sign he’s giving his king is the casual rolling of his wrist.

Arthur scowls at him, shuddering. Merlin lifts the goblet to his lips to hide his grin and his eyes flair gold as he causes the fire to spark brighter. Arthur huffs. “Stop that.”

Merlin shrugs, but there’s no cool rush. Arthur continues to seek out the dark grapes, occasionally tugging at the cloak. Sweat beads around his temples, drips down his spine, and settles at the nape of his neck. “Merlin. Would you mind doing something about the heat?”

Merlin doesn’t say anything and Arthur turns to find that Merlin has stood from his chair and is slowly making his way over. He stops in front of Arthur.

“I believe you might be wearing too much, for this kind of weather.”

Pale fingers reach for the strings holding heavy red fabric on the king’s shoulders. Arthur lets the fabric fall. Merlin’s fingers catch on the collar of Arthur’s shirt, and though they’re warmer than they were earlier, Arthur can’t help but shiver. He reaches his own hand up to Merlin face, wanting to trace those sharp cheekbones, but Merlin pulls away, dragging his fingers down Arthur’s chest, his abdomen, pausing at the laces on his pants.

Arthur swallows, and reaches for Merlin again, catching his neck this time and pulling the dark haired sorcerer towards him. Merlin’s lips taste like oranges, and Arthur can’t help but snort, because  _ of course  _ Merlin had eaten all of the citrus fruit. He tangles his fingers in the curls at the base of Merlin’s neck, pleased to find that Merlin has kept his hair the same length.

Too soon for the king’s liking, Merlin is pulling away. There’s a glint in his eyes, one that causes Arthur to shudder as the dark haired male sinks to his knees. Merlin mumble something and Arthur’s only in his pants. Cool fingers trace the coarse hair just below his navel, and Arthur expects them to dip  _ lower  _ but Merlin moves his hands up tangling in the faint dusting across Arthur’s pecks, curling up over his shoulders.

Merlin leans in close, nose tracing the planes of Arthur’s stomach, occasionally nipping at the pale, speckled king.

Arthur’s knees tremble, just a little, so he balances his hands on Merlin’s shoulders, wondering when Merlin had removed his shirt.

Below him, Merlin chuckles and Arthur realizes he must have said that out loud, but he doesn’t care, dragging his fingers through Merlin’s hair, tugging, but unsure where he’s trying to lead those dry lips. Merlin removes his hands and his mouth, and clasp his hands behind his back, head bowed in mock subservience. Arthur stares down at him, watching the same quiet smirk from earlier tug at the corners of Merlin’s mouth. There’s no sword, but Arthur’s hand rest at the side of Merlin’s neck, thumbs tracing over the faintest scar, surprised that the magic hadn’t completely healed the skin.

“Merlin. I want,” Arthur pauses, because there are so many things he could finish that sentence with. Merlin doesn’t seem to care though because he stands quickly, suddenly nimble fingers making quick work of the laces on Arthur’s pants, and the king carefully steps out of them.

Goosebumps rise over Arthur’s skin but he can’t blame magic this time. Merlin still has pants on, and Arthur thinks it’s completely unfair, he’s king dammit. Why does no one respect his authority?

Merlin laughs again and shoves him towards the bed, but Arthur refuses to let the sorcerer lead any longer. He grabs at sharp hips, grip a little too tight, but he can’t find it in him to care about the bruises he’ll leave behind. The king lowers his lips to Merlin’s neck, grinning against the long pale pillar, and there’s nothing gentle about the way his teeth latch on, marking the skin just below his jaw, right on top of his Adam’s apple, over both sides of his collar bone.  Merlin’s mouth falls open, breathy huffs of air the only reaction he’s giving, and Arthur thinks that it won’t do.

“Do something, sire.”  Merlin lowers his hands back to the king’s shoulders, trying to pull him up, trying to catch those narrow lips with his own chapped set. Arthur grins against the wizard’s chest, before biting hard enough to make Merlin gasp, back arching ever so slightly off the bed. That, Arthur thinks, is more appropriate. Merlin’s fingers curl over his shoulders and Arthur can’t help but jerk against him, drawing hisses from both males.

He does it again, a slow drag of his hips against Merlin’s, frowning at the coarse fabric against his sensitive skin. He traces his fingers through Merlin’s dark curls, before ripping the pants off. Merlin scowls up at the king, who merely smirks and drags his hips against Merlin’s slowly, savoring the way Merlin’s eyes screw shut and his full mouth opens. Slender fingers curl in the blond curls as Merlin forces Arthur’s mouth to his own, teeth nipping until Arthur’s lips are warm and slightly bruised feeling, before those fingers are carving their way down Arthur’s back, stopping just at the dip in Arthurs waist, right above his ass.

Arthur lets his own hand trail down Merlin’s chest once more, before he’s grabbing Merlin in his hand, quirking a brow at the slickness. Merlin merely gives him a golden, lust blown stare, hips jerking into Arthur’s hands.

Arthur strokes him for a moment, but he’s impatient, and it’s been too long, so he lifts one of Merlin’s legs and traces a finger between the plump globes of his ass, noting that Merlin has allowed the same wetness to spread to his hole. He takes a moment to appreciate the miles of pale skin, before he sinks one finger inside of Merlin. The wizard hisses, and Arthur pauses but Merlin grabs his hand and moves it. Arthur leans back a little using his other hand to swat at Merlin’s ass. “Impatient.”

It takes a moment for Merlin to formulate a response, but he eventually manages a shallow “clotpole!”

Arthur merely grins, adding a finger. Merlin groans, lets his other leg fall to the side, and Arthur balances on his knees, appreciating the sight of Merlin coming undone as he works him open. “Now, sire.”

Arthur frowns. “You’re not ready.”

Merlin snarls at him, a sound far removed from normal human noises, and Arthur doesn’t think that noise should affect his dick as strongly as it does. Merlin surges forward, teeth grabbing onto Arthur’s lips as he pulls him forward, forcing Arthur’s hand away and guiding Arthur the way he really wants him. It’s tight and warm, and the way Merlin lifts his hips, teeth cutting into his own plump lips, Arthur’s worried he’s hurt the dark haired male. But Merlin merely grips his hips and pulls Arthur, until he is seated inside of Merlin fully. He pauses a moment, waiting for Merlin to adjust, before he’s moving his hips, hand wrapping around Merlin’s knees to open his legs.

It’s too much, Arthur thinks, to stare at Merlin in these moments. He wants to see the way his eyes flash between blue and gold, loves the way his mouth twist, opening and closing, tongue tracing the shallow cuts his teeth created. Watching Merlin though, distracts him and Merlin opens his eyes, glaring at the king as he hisses “move, prat.”

Arthur scowls and forces Merlin’s knees to his chest. He dips his face to Merlin’s neck, moving in shallow thrust, letting his lips work the spot just under Merlin’s ear, occasionally blowing hair out of the way. Merlin makes a high pitched keening noise when Arthur hits  _ that _ spot, and he can’t help but grin against skin that is flushed, but somehow still too cold as he jerks his hips again. Merlin, for his part, drags his fingers up the kings back, and it’s only minutes before they’re both coming, Merlin’s eyes glowing and the deepest of sighs answering the strangled cry of the king.

They lay in a sticky heap for a moment, before Merlin’s muttering in that strange language, and a warm, tickling rush cleans them both. Arthur snorts, but pulls out, slowly and carefully lowering Merlin’s legs. He traces the string of purple-red bruises creating a strange chain on Merlin’s neck and chest, wondering if Merlin will magic them away.

“If that’s what you wish, sire.”

Arthur slumps on top of Merlin, nuzzling his nose in the crook where his shoulder and neck meet, and his hair curls, enjoying the strange, sweaty smell. “When, Merlin, have you ever done as I wished?”

Merlin traces patterns across his back, and when Arthur shivers pulls the quilt across them, but he doesn’t answer. It’s warm here, and despite the long nap earlier, Arthur can feel himself drifting off again. Merlin arranges them so that Arthur’s only half draped across him, their legs tangled, and Arthur's head on Merlin's chest. “I will always do as you wish, Arthur, so long as what you wish keeps you alive.”

Arthur wants to argue, wants to comment on the strange seriousness in Merlin’s voice, but he waits too long, and Merlin’s chest is moving evenly.  _ Tomorrow _ , the king thinks, and lets himself be lulled to sleep by Merlin’s breaths.

  
  



End file.
